DC Book 1: All That Sparkles
by aubreysmom
Summary: Book 1 in The Dillingham Chronicles. A friend of Tara's takes an interest in Myles. Has our Harvard grad met his match... or perhaps found it?
1. Chance Encounter

**All That Sparkles**

(Book 1 of _The Dillingham Chronicles_)

By aubreysmom

Rated T

**Disclaimer:** All characters are the property of Paxson Entertainment and Pebblehut Productions, with the exception of Elizabeth Dillingham, who is my own fictional creation.

**Summary:** A friend of Tara's takes an interest in Myles. Takes place shortly after "Cold Case."

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**Chapter 1: "Chance" Encounter**

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**INSTANT MESSAGE:**

**Lola: Hey, Liz!**

**_DrDill: Tara! You caught me between patients. I haven't heard from you in ages._**

**Lola: Hazards of the job. And, that's what you get for moving out of the building and buying a house. :D Coffee Club tomorrow morning?**

**_DrDill: Sure! Sue & Lucy too?_**

**Lola: Yup – case solved, closed, wrapped up. And have I got a story for you!**

**_DrDill:Oh, man. Now what? Myles antagonizing more novelists?_**

**Lola: LOL – even better. And this one includes ALL the guys—well, almost. Up for 'sale!' **

**_DrDill?LOL This I have to hear. 7am at Jefferson's?_**

**Lola: Sounds good. Someday we'll have to find a spot close to your office rather than across the street from HQ. Doesn't seem fair you have to do all the driving.**

**_DrDill: It's ok – I'm not likely to get a call before I start my coffee. ;)_**

**Lola: True. LOL See you tomorrow!**

**_Dr Dill has signed off_**

**Lola has signed off**

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"The Coffee Club," as it had come to be known, was one of the highlights of Elizabeth Dillingham's life, especially since she'd purchased a home and moved out of the apartment building where she'd been neighbors with Tara Williams.

They had met at the mailboxes five years ago, discovered a mutual love of _The Princess Bride_ and toffee-almond ice cream — and the rest was a friendship that provided them both an escape from difficult jobs.

Although she was a therapist in a private clinic, Elizabeth also volunteered her services ten hours a week at a local women's shelter, and was currently involved in a post-doctoral research study involving law enforcement workers. Since Tara _was_ a law enforcement officer, they had talked, unofficially, about the study and how the results could help the higher-ups gain a better understanding of the unique stresses law enforcement workers faced. 

Difficult jobs often make for unusual working hours, so Tara and Elizabeth had started scheduling early-morning coffee together at least once a month. They met at a coffee shop right across the street from FBI headquarters, in case Tara had to go on a call. It didn't take long for Tara to invite Sue and Lucy to join them, and now it was a foursome.

Obviously, they never talked _about _work—confidentiality being an issue on all sides—but stories of the goings-on _during _work were fair game. Although Liz had met Jack Hudson and Bobby Manning only briefly (as they'd come to summon the ladies for a case), and had never met Dimitrius Gans or Myles Leland, she felt in some ways that she knew them all.

_Up for sale?_ she thought. _This should be good._

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By the time Tara, Sue and Lucy finished, Elizabeth was holding her sides from laughing. She caught her breath and eyed Sue.

"So, how was the date with Jack?"

Sue blushed a little. "We agreed it wasn't a 'date' — it was a rescue mission. But it was fun. I'd never been to a professional football game before."

"That's one venue where being deaf is probably a blessing," Lucy added ruefully. "It seems loud enough just on TV."

Tara stirred her latte and grinned. "Wait 'till you see their videos, Liz. I downloaded them off the site and burned them onto a DVD." At their expressions, she grinned wider. "Hey, you never know when a little blackmail will come in handy."

They had all dissolved into giggles again when the bell on the coffee shop door jingled. Elizabeth looked up.

"Hel-llo. Who have we here? I thought I'd seen all the handsome men in D.C."

Tara, Lucy and Sue all turned. Jack, Dimitrius, Bobby and Myles were headed for the table, with strides that indicated something was up.

Tara, puzzled, said, "You've met Jack and Bobby before, Liz."

"Not them. The blond. _Who_ is that?"

Tara looked at her friend in astonishment. Unfortunately, there was no time to explain, since the four men were now at the table.

"Sorry, ladies," Jack said. "We've got a live one. Hello, Dr. Dillingham."

Elizabeth returned the greeting, and picked up her coffee and her purse. "I know what 'live one' means— shop talk. This is where I make an exit and head for the office. Nice to see you all again…oh," she smiled, holding out a hand to Myles, "I don't believe we've met. Dr. Elizabeth Dillingham. Tara and I have been friends for several years."

Myles raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? My estimation of Tara's taste just doubled." He shook her hand. "Special Agent Myles Leland the Third. A pleasure."

Elizabeth quickly greeted Dimitrius, then turned to head out the door. Myles caught her arm briefly as she turned and asked, "Wait – Dillingham? Of the _D.C._ Dillinghams?"

Elizabeth smiled sweetly, and responded in a voice that made Tara do a double-take. "The D.C. Dillinghams? Good heavens, no. Cambridge." She winked at Tara, waved to the group and headed for the door. Then she suddenly turned and caught Sue's eye. _Tell Tara to give him my phone number_, she signed, _And have him call me when he's free for dinner._ And she walked out.

Myles had been watching Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obviously interested. Now he turned. "She signs?" he asked Tara.

Tara nodded. "Her sister's deaf. All right, guys, what's up?"


	2. Scattered Showers

**Chapter 2: Scattered Showers**

What was up was a break in a case they'd been working on for four months. Only in the last three weeks had all the evidence really come together, thanks to some intense bullpen sessions, eighty-hour work weeks, and three very informative informants.

The _who _was a group of as-yet-unnamed smugglers, whom Bobby had dubbed the "Rockettes." The _what_ was diamonds (hence, "Rocks")—lots of them, coming into Baltimore Harbor in shipments of Belgian chocolates, then being trucked into D.C. The _when_ was today, sometime between 11am and 2 p.m. The _where _was a warehouse on the city limits. And the _why_ was financing for a terrorist cell currently based in Richmond, Virginia.

At the moment, it was quiet. Jack's team had moved in slowly, from various directions around the industrial park. A tiny camera was set up in a vent screen on the south side of the warehouse in question, and now Tara was adjusting it by remote, from a construction supply warehouse just adjacent, trying to get the best angle on the mostly-open space inside. They had thermal imaging, motion detectors, the works—a bee couldn't have flown in without being detected.

It was 10 a.m. Bobby and Dimitrius were stationed at the only entrance to the industrial park, posing as Con-Ed workers repairing lines. Jack was on the roof of the construction supply warehouse, keeping an eye out for—well, pretty much anything that could toss a wrench into the operation. His cover was repairing the air-conditioning unit on the roof. Sue was in the surveillance room with Tara, serving as a backup set of eyes, and in case her unique skills were needed.

"This technology never ceases to amaze me," she said as she watched Tara zoom in on a stack of boxes fifteen feet down and perhaps seventy-five feet away from where the camera was positioned. "A camera the size of a lipstick, perched practically on the roof, can get us close enough not only for me to lip-read, but to read the stress-test ratings on those boxes."

"Don't you just love living in the twenty-first century?" Myles said from the doorway.

Sue and Tara both smiled broadly, looking at him. The Harvard graduate had traded in his suit and tie for a company shirt and Dockers, work boots, and a hard hat. A pair of reading glasses was perched on his nose, and he carried a clipboard.

Myles would be posing as the inspector of a shipment of concrete blocks scheduled to come in, conveniently, at 10:45, while watching for any activity outside the warehouse once the "Rockettes" arrived. While the deal was in progress, it would be his job to cut the power to the warehouse's security system so the FBI could surround the smugglers undetected.

"Careful, Myles," Tara quipped as she ran the equipment through a final diagnostic. "The last time you went _this_ blue-collar on us, you broke out in a rash."

"Perhaps so, but it healed up quite nicely during the week's medical leave in Jamaica." He poured himself a cup of coffee, then leaned against the desk. "I'll be happy when we finally nail these guys. I'm starting to see the specs for that security system in my dreams."

"I had noticed the _Wall Street Journal_ piling up on your desk," Sue teased as he took a long drink. "Any withdrawal symptoms yet?"

"Nah," Tara piped in, "he can still catch the society column in the _Post_ on our breaks."

Before Myles could swallow his coffee and retort, Sue asked, "Speaking of society, what was all that this morning with Liz and …was it 'D.C. Dillingham'? Who's that? The way I saw her say it, sounds like somebody high-society."

"Not 'D.C. Dillingham.' The Dillingham _family_ of Washington, D.C.," Myles explained. At their blank looks, he huffed into his coffee. "High-society, definitely, but not in the same league as the Cambridge Dillinghams, I can tell you that."

"Oh."

Tara shrugged. "Whatever. I knew Liz comes from old money, but it's not something we've ever talked about."

Myles looked up at the ceiling and sighed in mock-exasperation. "I am the _only_ corner of culture in this circus." He glanced at his watch just as Jack signaled him that the concrete shipment was coming in. "Well, ladies, love to stay and chat, but I have to go earn another week's medical leave. Perhaps skiing in Vail this time." And he strode out.

Sue watched him leave, a bemused expression on her face. Several things had just clicked together in her mind.

"Tara?"

"Yeah?" was the reply. Tara was engrossed in the diagnostic.

"I think Liz went fishing this morning."

"What?"

"I think Liz went fishing this morning," Sue repeated.

It wasn't registering. "For what?"

"For Myles."

_That _caught Tara's attention. She looked up at Sue in astonishment.

"You're kidding me."

Sue shook her head. "No. This morning, just before she left, she signed to me to ask you to give Myles her phone number."

"She _what_?" Tara stared at Sue.

Sue leaned over closer, just in case Myles was still within earshot.

"She said for me to tell you to give Myles her phone number, and to have him call her when he's free for dinner."

Tara was still processing this. "She's crazy. After everything we've told her, she wants to go out with _Myles_? I wondered what all that this morning was about. I didn't tell Myles this, but Liz and I _have_ talked a little about her family. They're highbrow, all right, but she doesn't go in for all that. She's just Liz to me, and she's really down-to-earth. Well, you know her, Sue. Why would she do something so out-of-character like this morning?"

Sue smiled. "I think that _because_ of everything we've told her, she knew exactly the right way to catch Myles' attention. I guess it pays to be a psychologist."

Tara shook her head. "All right, I'll give him her number. Look out, world."

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They were ready. Everything was in place when, at 1 p.m., a large white truck pulled into the industrial park. It came to a stop outside the warehouse loading area, then was driven inside. No one came out to look around, and it appeared that no one was concerned to see the inspector out on the loading dock next door.

"Guess they think they have a foolproof security system," Jack commented over the radio. "We'll show 'em different, eh Myles? Bobby, D, you coming to join us?"

"Almost there, mate."

"Good. Tara, what have you got?"

Tara panned the camera. "Looks like about twenty in there. Must have been crowded in the back of that truck, what with all the crates that are in it. Ok—here's our terrorist liaison."

"Seems unusual that he'd come with them," Myles reasoned. "But there's no other way in here."

"Could he have come in on the concrete truck?" Bobby asked.

"If he did, he was folded up in the glove compartment," Myles replied, "and even then, he'd have had to open the door after the driver got out. I walked all the way around that truck before they dropped off the load. Looked under it, looked between the pallets…everything I could think of."

"We'll figure out later how he got in," Jack said. "Right now, everybody move in very quietly. Tara, I want to know what's going on every step of the way."

Tara and Sue leaned closer to the monitors. "Gotcha, boss," Tara said. "Looks like their fee is getting wired into an account via the Internet. Couple of people punching in passwords. Slick deal – no paper trail, no money coming into or leaving the warehouse."

"Do you see any diamonds?"

"Hang on…" She zoomed in just as the smugglers removed a crate from the truck. One man grabbed a crowbar and pried off the lid. Several layers of boxed chocolates were removed, and a layer of sparkling white revealed. "Wow! If every crate is like that, we're looking at nearly half a billion dollars worth, Jack."

"Everybody ready? Myles, you set at the security box?"

"Right here, _mon Capitan_." Myles' baritone rang over the radio. "Something strange, though."

"What?"

"There's an extra wire in here. One that wasn't on the specs. Connects the alarm to…I haven't a clue. It meanders all over the box, then just disappears out the back. It could be connected to anything, or nothing."

There was a pause. Then Jack's voice was there again. "Anybody else want to voice an opinion as to what this might be?"

Bobby was first. "Could it be hooked up to an explosive? Kinda like 'if you get in we all go up'?"

Myles again. "Hmmm….wrong gauge of wire. You wouldn't need anything this heavy for that."

Jack paused momentarily before he answered. "We can't wait forever. We need to move or abort now. And I'd really, really hate to abort. What do you think, Myles? You know the specs better than any of us."

"Anything I tell you would be a complete guess."

Tara broke in. "They're putting the crate back in the truck, guys. Looks like they're getting ready to move."

Jack's voice was there instantly. "All right, everybody get on your door. My call—Myles, go."

"Three, two, one …cutting."

Tara's screen went blank. "What the—?" Suddenly, they had a marvelous view of blue sky, straight up.

Sue grabbed her arm. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Tara replied tensely. "But I don't hear any gunfire. Let's get out there."

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Two hours later, an exhausted Tara shook her head again as she pulled a business card out of her purse and walked over to Myles' desk. Equally tired, and rather wet, heads turned from every direction.

"Myles…" she started.

He was sitting with his forehead propped up on his hands, looking down at the desk his elbows were resting on. He didn't even look up. "Enough already. How was I supposed to know shutting off the security system would activate the sprinklers? Nobody designs a system like that."

"At least you got the diamonds," Lucy said, trying to smooth things a little as she passed hot coffee around. "That's that much less money they'll have to work with."

"Until they find a new location to make their deliveries," muttered Bobby. He had been right in the path of a jet of water when they went in, and he looked like he'd just swum up out of the Potomac.

"But where did they go?" Sue added. "It was like they vanished into thin air."

"And left _us_ to get soaked—literally," Dimitrius voiced, leaning back in his chair despondently.

Tara spoke up. "There was nothing on the monitors, before the camera got water-blasted. They were all standing there between the truck and that monster-sized pallet we'd been staring at all morning. Then they were gone. What happened when you all went back to look at the security box?"

"We found," Bobby growled, "that if Mr. Wizard over here had simply cut _that_ wire first, none of this would have happened, the 'Rockettes' would be behind bars, and we'd still be dry."

"We didn't find that out until we looked at it from _inside_ the warehouse," defended Myles wearily. "There was no way of knowing, from the vantage point I had, _what _would happen."

"Oh, c'mon, mate," Bobby shot back, "that was rare form, even for you. You've been staring at those specs for a week now. You can't expect us to let you off _that_ easy, can you? Three solid weeks of legwork, shot to…"

Myles came halfway out of his chair. "Look, Roo, I don't have to …"

Jack stepped in. "Enough! It's been a long day, we're all tired and tempers are short. It was nobody's fault. And if you all remember correctly, it was _my_ call. Myles, sit down. Bobby, Tara — give it a rest." His firm tone left no room for argument.

Tara drew herself up straight. "For your information, I wasn't going to say anything about today. I just wanted to get this over with." She threw the business card at Myles.

It was a credit to his reflexes that he caught it. "What's this?"

"Elizabeth's phone number. She wanted me to give it to you. Her home number's on the back."

The tension in the room abated, just slightly.

He stared at her blankly for a moment. "Elizabeth? Oh, Dr. Dillingham, from this morning? Her phone number?" He looked at the card, then back up at Tara, his expression darkening further, if that were possible. "She's a clinical psychologist. Highly amusing, Tara, but the timing's lousy."

"Myles, I'm in no more mood for jokes than you are, and this isn't one. What you saw Liz signing to Sue this morning was for me to give you her phone number and tell you to call her if you'd be interested in dinner." She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. "Heaven only knows why."

Myles bored his glare into Sue, who simply shrugged as she rubbed a towel in her hair. "That's what she said."

Dimitrius chuckled. "Myles dating a psychologist — that's got to be poetic justice in somebody's book."

Everybody else laughed, too—almost. Myles just _hmphed_ and reacquired his slump.

Bobby was about add his two cents' worth when Jack said, "All right, people. Let's just call it a day and start fresh tomorrow. Everybody go home and relax. Do whatever it takes to get you back here in the morning positive and ready to tackle this case again."


	3. Getting to Know You

**Chapter 3: Getting to Know You**

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Jack was right. It wasn't anyone's fault.

The problem was, as firmly as Myles knew that, it wasn't helping. _Three solid weeks_. It ate at his gut, as surely as if Bobby were perched on the barstool chanting the words as Myles paced in the kitchen.

_Relax. Oh, right, Jack. Just shrug it off and pick up the pieces tomorrow_. Defeats and setbacks were part of the job; Myles Leland III knew that, and could usually do just that—shrug them off and rebound with a vengeance. Unless he felt personally responsible. Then it wasn't so easy.

Being "silver spoon-fed," as Bobby liked to put it, wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Few people truly understood the intense pressure that often came with the legacy. Myles' head ached as every grueling lecture his grandfather had delivered, throughout his childhood and adolescence, on the responsibility of upholding the Leland family honor came rushing back to haunt him.

To suffer setback was acceptable—it built character. To look foolish in doing so, regardless of the circumstances, was _NOT_, however—and Myles had come off looking very foolish today.

_How am I supposed to relax after that fiasco? I don't feel like talking to anyone from work, and I certainly don't want to sit here with Grandfather's voice in my head all night._

Uttering a single mild curse—something else his grandfather considered beneath the Leland dignity—he pulled off his suit coat and hurled it across the room. As it tumbled onto the back of the sofa, a slip of white fell out of it and landed face-up on the floor.

Elizabeth Dillingham's business card.

_Oh, what the hell._

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"Hello?"

"Dr. Dillingham? It's Myles Leland III." His voice, after some considerable effort, had regained its tenor and the polish was back in place.

"Oh, yes. Myles. And please, call me Elizabeth. What can I do for you?"

"Actually, I was wondering if the offer of dinner was available on short notice. I would, of course, understand if you already have other plans."

Elizabeth smiled. "Not at all. I just got home from work and was deciding between canned soup and macaroni & cheese. What did you have in mind?"

"I know a marvelous little Italian place at the end of the Mall. The linguine pomodoro is simply exquisite."

"That sounds wonderful, Myles. Shall I meet you there in say, half an hour?"

"I'll see you there. The name of the restaurant is _Antonio's_."

Elizabeth's smile got bigger as she hung up the phone. _Life's about to get interesting, I hope._

**s**

**s**

She studied him for a moment, sitting at the bar with a scotch, neat, untouched in front of him. It didn't surprise her that, even unobserved by anyone he knew, he had an air of practiced importance about him that distanced him from anyone else in the room, although he was obviously disturbed about something.

What _did _surprise Elizabeth was that he'd opted for a less formal look than she'd expected. Instead of a suit and tie, Myles wore impeccably pressed khakis, and a button-down shirt under a subtly-patterned blue sweater that looked like it had come from an Aspen pro shop. _He must be more tired than I thought. I'm surprised he called._

Accustomed, perhaps, to knowing when he was being watched, Myles looked up and saw her. With a graceful flourish, he stood and walked over to her.

"Elizabeth. How nice to see you again." He glanced admiringly at her. "You look lovely."

She brushed at her dark green pantsuit demurely, just like her grandmother had taught her. "Thank you, Myles."

"Shall we?"

He took her elbow gently, and they followed the hostess to a table. He held her chair for her, then sat down across from her. They each ordered a white wine, and he suggested the special for the evening. Then they chatted over inconsequentials, the basic first-date things, where-did-you-go-to-school and such.

To his credit, Myles did wait until they had been served their salads before asking, "So…you're from Cambridge? As in Dr. _David_ Dillingham?"

"That's right. My esteemed grandfather."

"And yet, you went to Princeton?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, and he didn't even disown me. You should have heard him, though: 'Ten generations of Dillinghams have been Harvard men and women, and you want to go to college in _New Jersey_?'"

Her imitation could have been of his own grandfather, and Myles found himself chuckling, too. "I can understand the reaction, seeing the Dillingham name on practically everything while I was there. How'd you manage it?"

"Actually, it was simple. Princeton has a better psychology program, that's all. Once Grandfather realized I wasn't rebelling against tradition just for the sake of it, he was fine. And he was so proud that I graduated at the top of my class that he _came _to graduation. Actually set foot on Princeton grounds."

"And we graduated in the same year? I thought I felt a tremor roll through the Harvard halls as all the predecessors rolled over in their graves."

Her laugh was musical, and contagious. The rest of dinner was spent reliving wild college stories and discussing Milton. Myles found that his headache was completely gone, and his energy level ebbing back toward normal. _I'm glad I did this tonight, _he thought, _I needed this_.

**s**

**s**

It had been a perfect evening.

As a rule, Myles Leland _hated _first dates. With a passion. It was always an intricate mind game; how much of himself to reveal (5 percent), what to hold back (95 percent), what to make up, in some cases. It was worse than going undercover.

Tired as he was, he had already decided that tonight would be kept friendly and generalized, so he didn't have to think. Find out a little about the lady, give her the very basics about himself, and then just do the small talk route. It had helped that their backgrounds were obviously similar—the Cambridge Dillinghams were almost as high on the society ladder as the Lelands. He could have an intelligent conversation without having to pretend.

But Elizabeth was like no one he'd ever met. It was almost like she was plugged into his subconscious. Even when they disagreed on something, he didn't feel like he had to win the point, to save face. She was intelligent without being pretentious, warm without being flirty, and she seemed to have a charming unawareness of how stunningly pretty she was.

As they stepped out of the restaurant, to a view of the moonlit Mall, Elizabeth sighed. "I do love this city at night. All the politicians have gone home, or at least behind closed doors; the moving and shaking is done for the day. D.C. can have a chance to be a quietly solemn city, fitting of our nation's capital."

"I'd never thought of it that way, but you're right. Sometimes I wish I got more chance to see it like this. Usually, I'm crouched behind a dumpster waiting for the bad guys to make a move in the dark, and the beauty gets lost." He offered her his arm. "I find I'm not eager to end this evening. What would you say to a stroll along the Mall?"

"I'd say that sounds lovely."

They walked in silence, enjoying each other's company and the sparkling view. Pausing at a small bench next to the reflecting pool, Elizabeth leaned against Myles' shoulder.

"May I ask you a question? I'm curious about something."

"Go ahead."

"What made you decide to go into law enforcement? I'd have figured you for Harvard Business School, headed for Wall Street."

Myles looked at her steadily for a moment, silently debating.

"I'm sorry," said Elizabeth, "It's all right if you don't want to tell me. As I said, I was just curious."

"No, it's all right. I just…" He gazed into her eyes again, and made a decision. "It's not something many people know about me, and not something I share readily. Care to sit down for a minute?" She nodded, and they sat down on the bench.

He stared out at the water, collecting his thoughts. "I'm sure most of my co-workers think that I fancy myself James Bond, and that's what I let them think. In fact, when I've found myself defending what I do, that's what usually comes out…"

"'Einstein with a gun,' huh?" It was said very gently.

He looked at her sharply, then saw the soft smile and couldn't help himself from smiling, a little sheepishly, back at her. "Something like that. Anyway,…"

Suddenly, a very unpleasant thought popped into Myles' head. The smile faded and his tone chilled a little. "Exactly how much does Tara tell you, anyway?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Case work? Nothing, obviously. Everything else? A fair amount. But you have to remember, I get her particular perspective. I have to filter all that out and draw my own conclusions. Why?"

He turned and looked directly at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Did you talk to Tara this evening, before I called?" His voice got harder with every word.

Elizabeth blinked. _Oh, no. _She hadn't intended to tease him, and had actually forgotten for a moment that they had a very mutual friend. "Yes." She wasn't going to lie to him, although she knew she was in dangerous waters.

He stood, and the tone of his voice was colder than the night air. "I see. Well, Dr. Dillingham, thank you for dinner, but I won't be needing your services. Good night." He turned on his heel and walked away, anger stiffening his shoulders and quickening his pace.

She stared after him for a minute, trying to process what had just happened. _How did this happen? We were having a wonderful time. I didn't mean…_

_Oh, no—I'm not leaving things like this._ She got up and started after him, grateful she'd worn sensible shoes instead of heels. She had to almost run to overtake his long stride, and was gasping slightly when she caught his arm and swung him around.

"Whoa there, Special Agent. What exactly do you think is going on?"

He wrenched his arm away from her. "I _think_," he spat, "that Tara filled you in on today's fiasco and wanted you to come therapize me, or whatever you call it. Poor Myles, he's had a rough day, see if you can straighten him out so we don't have any more episodes like this! Let me tell you something, Dr. Dillingham—I've been with the FBI for ten years, I know perfectly well how to do my job. I don't need yours or anybody else's help!"

Elizabeth didn't let him get a single stride; she stood toe-to-toe with him and eyed him steadily. "If I remember correctly," she said, very evenly, "_you_ called_ me_ tonight, Agent Leland. And, for your information, my conversation with Tara had a lot more to do with helping her unwind than it did in discussing you. She did _not_ go into detail about whatever happened today, said very little except that the day had been extremely frustrating and you were all tired. The only time your name came up at all was that she told me she'd given you my number, but doubted if you'd call tonight. She still thinks I'm crazy for wanting to do this, anyway."

She took a breath. "Why did you call me tonight, Myles, if you'd had such a rotten day?"

He blinked. "I…"

"Because you picked having dinner with a near-stranger over staying home with your own thoughts, that's why. And that's fine. But don't you _dare_ go and accuse me of conspiring with Tara to set you up in a therapy session."

He didn't believe her—she could see it in his eyes. He didn't believe anything they'd talked about tonight, nothing. It hurt like nothing she'd experienced before, the thought that such a wonderful evening was in ashes and might never be resurrected.

"You don't believe me," she said evenly. "Fine. Check with Tara. She always saves IM conversations for a couple of weeks—rather like a journal. You do whatever checking on me you feel you need to, get your answers, and then give me a call when you get done. Because even after this, I'd still like to see you again."

"I wouldn't wait by the phone if I were you." It was imperious, like a royal prince sneering at a peasant.

She ignored the tone. "I don't intend to. I have too much work to do. But I'm not going to change the number, either." And she left him standing there.

**s**

**s**

**INSTANT MESSAGE:**

**_DrDill: Hey, Tara, you still up?_**

**Lola: Hi, Liz. Where've you been?**

_**DrDill: What I thought was going to be a nice dinner. Hey, will you do me a favor?**_

**Lola: Sure, what?**

**_DrDill: When you all finish whatever case you're working on now, will you pull up the FBI's file on_ _me? The background check from the research study proposal?_**

**Lola: Why?**

_**DrDill: I want you to put it on Myles' desk. Along with a printout of the IM conversation you and I had earlier tonight. And you're not to say anything about this to him. Nothing. Not one word. Not until your case is finished.**_

**Lola: Why? What happened, Liz? Did he call? What did he do?**

**_DrDill: No answers tonight, Tara. Give me your word._**

**Lola:All right, you have my word on it.**

_**DrDill:Thanks, my friend. This is between him and me right now. Good night!**_


	4. The Rat Race

**Chapter 4: The Rat Race**

It took about a hundred pushups and a good book to finally wear down, but Myles managed to get a decent night's sleep. The anger, and most of the tension, were gone when he woke up.

As he walked into the bullpen, though, a goodly portion of that tension came back. He expected Tara to jump down his throat, since he was sure she'd talked to Elizabeth—he planned to do a little jumping of his own if she said anything. He was ready for that. But he wasn't entirely certain that Bobby had forgiven him for the previous day's drenching.

_That _particular concern was allayed, however, when Myles reached his desk. The double espresso and the Krispy Kreme donut (crème-filled) said more than any awkward words could. He picked up the coffee, then turned to look at Bobby, who was seated at his own desk. The Aussie raised a coffee in salute, and Myles returned it with a nod.

Tara was also already at her desk, poring over something on her computer. She looked up for a moment, smiled briefly, but there was nothing in her expression to indicate she knew about his fight with Elizabeth. _Good. _The rest of his tension ebbed away.

The rest of the team walked in together, already brainstorming. Jack called them together.

"All right," he began. "we didn't shut them down, but we stung them pretty good, to the tune of a cool seven hundred million in diamonds." He paused to let the low whistles circle the room.

"We got stung ourselves in the process — it happens. Now we need to figure out how to not let it happen again. Tara, pull up everything from yesterday's surveillance. I want to know where and how those guys disappeared. Bobby, what did SOG find?"

"A whole lot of nothin's what they found," Bobby replied. "Except, of course, for the truck, the diamonds, the chocolates, and a nearly-empty warehouse with a couple of stray rats…"

Myles' head snapped up as a thought occurred to him.

"…a few fingerprints, nobody on file, the errant gum wrapper— _nothing_ to give us any clue as to where they went, or how."

Jack had noticed Myles' movement. "Myles? Something?"

"Rats."

"Excuse me?" Jack blinked. He wasn't the only one.

Myles answered with a different question. "Bobby, did SOG check out that big pallet of crates in the middle of the warehouse?"

The Aussie shrugged. "They didn't dismantle it, if that's what you're asking."

"Myles, where are you going with this?" Jack prodded.

The taller man held out his hand, as if to present the thought. "My father served two tours in Vietnam. Not in some office at the rear," he clarified in response to Bobby's snort, "out in the bush. He used to tell stories about the tactics the enemy used — tactics nobody in the West had really thought about until then. Anyway, Dad helped form a special unit to combat one tactic in particular. The men in that unit were known as 'tunnel rats.'"

"'Tunnel rats?" Sue repeated, just to make sure she'd read correctly.

Myles nodded.

Jack was about to tell him again to get on with it, when Sue snapped her fingers and said, "You think there's a tunnel under that pallet. And that's how the Rockettes were able to vanish."

"Yes. It's either that or magic, and I'm not much of a believer in magic. I'd be willing to bet that, if we hadn't interrupted them, all those diamonds would have gone down there, too, and all we'd have found was a truckload of chocolate. _And_ it gives us our explanation for the terrorist liaison—he came_ in_ that same way."

Jack's voice took on a note of excitement. "Tara, punch up the first part of the video, before the truck got there. Also the thermal imaging we took."

"Here you go." The two images came up on the big screen. "The thermal imaging is longer, since the scanner was father away from the sprinkler that got the camera."

"Set them in slow motion. Synchronized, if you can."

"They don't call me TaraTech for nothing." She tapped a few keys on her computer, and the two segments started. There was nothing to indicate anything unusual around the pallet.

Jack was about to signal her to shut it off when Myles held up a hand.

"Wait. There are a couple of ways to fool a thermal scan with something like this. Keep it going."

Jack nodded, and they kept watching as the truck pulled in, and yesterday's scene repeated itself on the screen. Everything was identical—until the point where the sprinklers went off.

"There." Myles pointed. "Tara, freeze the thermal image, back it up about 5 seconds, then run it frame-by-frame. _Just _the thermal."

"That's all we have at this point, anyway." More keyboard clicks. Then, "Here you go."

As the frames ticked by in sequence, Myles elaborated on his previous statement. "The same tactics that made the NVA and the VC so hard to catch were also used during the Cold War. There were tunnels under the Berlin Wall, used as bases by Allied coverts—and to keep them from being picked up as a heat source, the tunnels were kept well air-conditioned. There, Tara, freeze it."

He pointed at the screen. "With the warehouse's AC on, there wouldn't really be enough of a difference to pick up the air-conditioned tunnel. But right there, what do you see?"

Lucy responded. "A warm spot. Pretty good-sized knot right by the truck. Oh—that would be our Rockettes."

"Right," Myles continued. "Ok, Tara. Put it back on frame-by-frame. Watch that warm spot."

The red blotch on the screen began to condense, getting smaller until it was gone.

Jack voiced what they'd just seen. "Twenty warm bodies going down into a cold tunnel."

Bobby folded his arms across his chest. "But there'd be no way for them , in the time they had, to shove that pallet out of the way, to say nothing of putting it back exactly where…" He trailed off as the answer to his own question appeared in his mind.

Dimitrius beat him to saying it, though. "Unless it's a single piece on a swivel of some sort. Wouldn't be that hard to rig up."

"Exactly." Myles sipped his coffee, trying hard not to be too smug about it.

Jack's grin just got bigger and bigger. "I _knew_ there was a reason I brought all you geniuses together on this team. Wait'll I tell Garrett."


	5. This Could Be the Beginning

**Chapter 5: This Could Be the Beginning…**

Once they knew what to look for, the rest was easy. Well, perhaps not easy, but routine.

What they found was not _one_ tunnel, but a whole network of them, connecting several warehouses within a five-mile radius of the first one. The Rockettes had any number of ways to get diamonds in or out, which was why it had taken the FBI so long to find the pattern. The _only_ consistency had been the cargo – Belgian chocolates.

It took just a week to map the tunnel system, dismantle what few "surprises" were waiting for trespassers, set up surveillance in the tunnels, catch the Rockettes together, and round them up for a nice long stay at the federal penitentiary. They even caught the terrorist liaison, but the rest of the cell had closed up shop and moved elsewhere. Sometimes you just don't get everything.

Still, there was an air of immense satisfaction in the Bullpen the following Monday morning. Nothing left but the paperwork. Myles came in early to get a head-start on it.

When he got to his desk, however, he found a manila folder, perhaps an inch thick, sitting in the middle of it. Before he had a chance to look at it, though, a motion off to the side caught his eye. He turned to see Tara, who apparently had come in even earlier, pull two sheets of paper off her printer and head toward him.

"What's this?" He asked as she handed him the papers.

"Some light reading," she replied coolly. "By the way, there are much better methods of revenge for all the blind dates you've set me up on, and I can't believe you'd think I was that cruel, anyway."

It took a minute to register, but when it did, the anger came back full-force. He was glad they were alone in the Bullpen. "I'm surprised it took you this long to jump on me about it. I suppose you and Elizabeth spent that evening rehashing the whole farce."

Tara just looked at him. When she spoke, her voice was shaking with a fair amount of her own anger. "You just read. All of it. Because believe me, if I knew what was going on, I probably would rip you up one side and down the other. As it is, I have my best friend keeping completely quiet about an evening you think I set up, while asking me to give you everything the FBI has on her. So you're on your own—nobody to yell at, just a file from a background check she had to have done for her research project. And it's extensive. Enjoy." She walked back to her desk and sat down without so much as a backward glare at him.

"She _asked_ you to give me this file?" Myles finally found his voice again. "Why?"

"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me, as you will see from one of the printouts I just gave you. It's the IM we had after she got home that night. She made me swear I wouldn't say anything about it until after we finished with the Rockettes. The other printout is the IM we had before, apparently just before you called her. You're welcome to come check my computer if you think I edited them at all. Otherwise, I suggest you sit down and read. You have an hour before anyone else is scheduled to come in."

Myles stared at her for a moment, then looked down at the printouts in his hand. He set them on his desk, went and got a cup of coffee, then came back and sat down. _This is useless_, he thought. _Why drag it all up again? Still…_

Tara had sounded genuinely hurt that he'd thought she'd set him up. And, admittedly, if it was a prank, it was a gesture he would have sooner expected from Bobby than from Tara. Myles supposed he at least owed Tara the benefit of the doubt until he proved otherwise.

_You're stalling, Leland._ And he knew why, too. If he had been wrong about a setup, he'd wrecked a wonderful evening with a lady that, otherwise, he had been on the verge of falling for—hook, line, and sinker. Part of him didn't want to know if he was wrong, because he didn't know if he could ever make it right again. _But if Elizabeth went to this much trouble to prove herself, I guess I owe her a reading, at least. And then I'll know_.

**s**

**s**

Forty-five minutes later, Tara looked over at Myles. He was sitting in much the same position he had the day they had gotten drenched, although from his expression she suspected he'd rather be over banging his head against the wall. Part of her wanted to leave him like that for awhile—it would serve him right. But compassion, and the fact that Liz had asked one more favor of her, finally won out and she walked over.

She slid one hip up onto the corner of his desk, folded her arms across her chest, and waited for a moment. She was hoping it wouldn't take him long to look up, since the rest of the room would fill up shortly, and what she had to say to him wasn't meant for anyone else.

"Go ahead," Myles said, without looking up.

"What?" she asked gently.

"Get it over with— the 'I told you so.' I more than deserve it. I can't believe I blew something that started so well." Now he looked up, and she knew what the next words cost the Leland pride. "I'm sorry I thought you were behind this. So, go ahead— say it."

"Apology accepted— and date/time logged," she said with a smile, hoping to coax one from him as well. It worked— sort of. "And," she continued, "I wasn't going to say 'I told you so.' This is between you and Liz now. She did ask me to let her know when I had given you the file, and then she filled me in on the fight you had. She asked me to remind you of just one thing."

"Just one?"

Tara nodded. "To quote it verbatim: 'You do whatever checking on me you feel you need to, get your answers, and then give me a call when you get done. Because even after this, I'd still like to see you again.'"

Myles dropped his head back onto his hands. "What do I…what _can _I say to her?"

As Tara thought about that, she heard voices coming down the hallway. There wasn't much time. She shook her head. "It sounds to me like just showing up would be a step in the right direction. Liz doesn't hold grudges, Myles. As for what to say, I think you need to figure that out yourself. Unfortunately, it'll have to wait. Duty calls."

Four days, and a couple of minor cases later, Myles stopped Sue on her way out for the evening.

"Thomas, I need your help with something."

**s**

**s**

Elizabeth sighed, petting the gray tabby in her arms as she stared out the back window, which offered a beautiful view of Grandin Park. The foliage was in full autumn splendor, but none of it brought any peace. _Saturday morning_, she thought_. It's been five days_. _Five days since Tara gave him my file, and nothing. Not a word. Rats. _It hurt worse than she'd expected.

She sighed again. "Oh well. Back to the dating drawing board, I guess. It's going to take awhile to find somebody after Myles." She put the cat down and headed for the coat rack. " Ok, Roger, no more moping. I'm going for a walk."

She pulled on her coat and opened the door, checking in her pocket to make sure her keys were there. Because she was looking down, she managed not to step on the rose in the middle of her doorstep. She gasped – it was the most beautiful white rose she'd ever seen. _What's this?_ She thought as she knelt to pick it up. Elizabeth glanced up toward the street, and stopped short.

Myles Leland III was leaning against his car, watching her. When their eyes met, he signed, slowly and deliberately enough that Elizabeth knew he was concentrating to remember what Sue had taught him: ME SORRY. ME IDIOT.

Elizabeth smiled slightly as she walked over to him. "Easier to sign it than to say it?" she asked.

He started to retort; then she was very surprised to see the polished mask drop completely. "No, not easier," he said softly. " I just thought it would go better if I didn't open my mouth. I truly _am_ sorry, Elizabeth. I don't know what else to say, but…"

She reached up and put her hand over his mouth. "You're forgiven. I have a fair idea what that must have cost you, and I don't want to drag it out."

He pulled her hand away, but kept hold of it. "Do I really come off that arrogant?" He thought for a second, then let his breath out in a laugh. "I suppose I do."

"It's okay," she replied with a smile. "I can get used to that."

"You shouldn't have to." He let go of her hand and gently stroked her cheek. "Besides, whatever it may have cost my pride to apologize is nothing to what losing the chance to get to know you would have cost my heart."

He watched her eyes widen and a flush come to her cheeks, and he smiled. "Would you have dinner with me again? Kind of start over? Although I suppose it's not really fair, since I know all about you now, from your file."

A mischievous twinkle, like diamonds, lit up her green eyes. "Just because you know my background, that doesn't mean you know _anything_ about who I am."

"That's true," he agreed. "I stand corrected. But I think, if you'll let me, it's going to be an awful lot of fun finding out."

"Oh, I'll make sure of that." Elizabeth looked at her watch. "Hmmm—it's a little early for dinner. I was about to go enjoy autumn in the park. Care to join me?"

He offered her his arm. "I'd say that sounds lovely."

FINIS


End file.
